Ramifications
by Onesmartcookie78
Summary: For The Quidditch League FanFiction Competition: Round Five: Weasleys: Arthur and Molly. What happened to Arthur during his "inquiry at work"? One-shot.


Ramifications

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: What happened to Arthur during his "inquiry at work"?

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

* * *

Arthur Weasley was having a bad day. On a normal occasion, the comfort of his wife would be enough to alleviate his aches from his seemingly "random" and "not-hostile-honestly-Arthur" brushes with Lucius Malfoy at work. Unfortunately, this instance was not to be included in that category.

You see, not only had he faced Lucius's rather impertinent tongue, but also his ridicule and that of the Ministry. Especially from that horrid woman, a "Doorlrnses Unibrowbridige" or something similar. Either way, the name was synonymous with self-righteous indignation, the epitome of terribly racist pureblood supremacy, frankly alarmingly frilly and decidedly pink clothing and a false sense of justice. In fact, the woman had started his inquiry in a tone positively dripping with sarcastic condescension, her beginning query: "And what _exactly_ is the benefit of a department set aside for the study of _muggle_ artefacts?"

As though tracing blood back generation by generation on a family tree was more interesting than the proper function of a rubber duck! Arthur could not believe the nerve of her, calling him out on his chosen profession. Granted, he hadn't followed the rules and regulations he himself had set aside for his office. Luckily, it was only him and three other blokes (and they were a thankfully tightly-knit group, though it didn't hurt that he was the Head of the Office) so the Ministry hasn't been able to accuse him of his true crime. Arthur was, of course, referring to the illegality of bringing the work of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office home. Wizards weren't meant to have muggle objects, and he was no exception.

So instead, the inquiry had blown over with relative ease- though the mocking he had been forced to endure by Deloreez Umbinheimen and Malfoy hadn't been welcome. He was just fortunate that they had only brought into question his "poor excuse" of parenting skills. The Ford Anglia hadn't received the brunt of the interrogation, just the question of _how_ exactly his son had managed to get a hold of it. And when it had come into mind that the Ford Anglia had been conveniently in his possession, Arthur had managed to deflect the subject with the excuse that it had no home at the Ministry because there wasn't enough space. He had the request he had written three years ago asking for more office space on file to prove it. So he had been let off on that account.

For bewitching the car, on the opposite end of getting off scott-free, he had been fined. Fifty Galleons, to be precise, and fifty Galleons of money he didn't have. Nonetheless, he would be required to pay the sum. They could scrounge it up from somewhere. He hoped.

On the other hand, the last remaining contributing factor to his traumatising, (Deloriss Ukembacken's appearance) disappointing (to think that Harry and Ron would not have trusted him and his wife -in Ron's case his _parents_- to help them get to school was disheartening) and humiliating (stupid Lucius) day had arisen out of the depths of the mess his son and his son's best mate had got into.

You got it! He was going to have to get rid of the Ford Anglia. Well, if he could find it. He'd have to send a letter to Ron first to find out where it had gone so that he could pick it up.

All in all, he'd had a lousy day. In fact, he'd come home earlier than normal to deal with the fallout of Molly finding out. He'd intended to beat the news home, knowing that "The Dailey Prophet" usually only sent out their papers in the morning. He'd figured he'd have plenty of time to calm her down before the lies came flooding in. It was not meant to be; when he arrived at his humble abode (he used the term loosely, for it was very humble indeed and it wasn't the most inspiring phrase) Molly was ranting and raving up a storm.

He made his way through the deceptively cool door (the way she was spewing burning explicatives at the Ministry and the stupidity of their youngest son was quite like a dragon spewing fire, something their second oldest would know a thing or two about) and into the living room. He hadn't even been there for a few seconds before she'd rounded on him, blaming him for encouraging the use of the contraption to rescue Harry from the Dursley's. That, according to his lovely wife, was the basis for their actions; they had received the necessary praise and blundered on, thinking it all right since Arthur had previously approved. Therefore, it was all his fault.

Definitely not the customary, cosy comfort he was used to after a tiring day at work. As much as he didn't want to get into a row with Molly, he felt it only fair to defend himself. And so, with great shame but obvious truth, he had turned Molly's wrath onto Ron.

Now, he sat sipping his tea and perusing the special edition, must-read, news article. It had been specifically ordered -championed, really- by none other than Lucius Malfoy, and was titled: "The 'Inconspicuous Secrecy' of the Second Years". No wonder Molly had gone into such a tizzy. They had made his inquiry look much worse than it was in actuality -to dramatise and sensationalise the story, no doubt- and had claimed that the boys had been seen by 'no less than seven' muggles, which was a lie. They had, in actuality, only been seen by _eight_ muggles. It didn't really make the situation look better (indeed, worse), but it showed the lack of credibility one could associate with any and all data provided by "The Prophet".

He listened to Molly scream into the Howler for a good ten minutes, feeling bad for Ron (and quite possibly Harry as well; Molly had been unclear as to her feeling on the Boy-Who-Lived's involvement in the matter) who was undoubtedly going to discover (with all the subtlety of a brick wall, in keeping of Molly's way of handling things) the ramifications of his actions in the most unpleasant (and embarrassing) of ways.


End file.
